


Guilty Hearts

by kwhyloren



Series: "Look Only At Me" verse fics [3]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 07:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8524558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwhyloren/pseuds/kwhyloren
Summary: MC tries to come to terms with her feelings towards Zen.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Whew! Okay, this one took a lot out of me emotionally to write, but oh man did I enjoy writing it. I think this will be the last installment in the "Look Only At Me" story. "Think" being the key word because I really like writing in this verse, but I also feel like this one ends it on a solid note and that adding any more parts to it would cheapen it.
> 
> I'd like to give a big thank you to all of you who asked for more and told me to keep going with these fics. You know who you are, and I'm grateful to you for giving me the motivation :)
> 
> This fic is also posted on my tumblr blog, [yoosunging](http://yoosunging.tumblr.com/post/153022887952/guilty-hearts-look-only-at-me-part-3).

_ He’s chasing you, that god-awful knife glinting dangerously in the lamplight. It swings downward, stings, burns-- someone screams. It’s a mess of red and silver, grasping hands and choked sobs. Shrill laughter fills your ears and then it all stops, quiet rising up and enveloping everything like a great wave. _

 

_ Yoosung’s lying in your arms, gasping, coughing, apologies flowing from his bloodstained lips. You’re crying, holding him close to you, begging him to stay. He says he can’t, not anymore. It’s his time to go. The burning in your gut becomes hotter, your blood’s simmering with the heat. You feel like you’re on fire. All the light goes from his eyes and the fire is suddenly frigid, encasing your heart in ice, the crystals making their way up your throat and into your mouth. You can’t breathe-- _

 

Your eyes fly open and you bolt upright, sweat clinging to your skin. There’s a chill as the sheets fall off, exposing you to the cold darkness of your room. You move a hand to rest above your pounding heart, confused and terrified. What a horrible nightmare, you think. There’s soft breathing coming from the bed beside you and your heart begins to calm, thoughts slowing their racing. He’s safe. In the dark of the room, you can barely make out his frame. You gently touch his shoulder.

 

“Yoosung. Yoosung, babe...wake up,” you say, voice a hushed plea.

 

The man grumbles, shifting his position slightly. He turns over, facing you now. His face comes out of the shadows and into the small sliver of moonlight coming in through the window and you’re hit with a bone-shattering force of shock. Zen’s crimson eyes peer at you sleepily through heavy lids, expression concerned.

 

“_____? What’s going on...is something wrong?” He asks, moving a hand to rub his bleary eyes.

 

It’s all hitting you now. Hard. You haven’t had a nightmare like that in months. It had been so long and yet-- how the hell had you forgotten? For a moment, you had fully believed that it was only a dream, and that your sweet Yoosung was still alive, but…

 

It’s been three years, you realize with a start. Three years since he left you alone in this world.  _ No, not alone, _ you remind yourself, like always, but right now your coping techniques aren’t working. The sadness is overwhelming but there’s something else, something much, much worse.

 

You’re naked, completely. You can feel the sheets touching your bare skin and the warmth radiating from his under the covers. Fuck. You’ve really done it this time. The events from the night before play in your mind like an old movie reel, fuzzy and jumpy.

 

_ The alcohol’s getting to you, that’s for sure, but you couldn’t give less of a shit. You’ve been good lately with controlling your mood swings and keeping up your effort at work, so you deserve a reward. Zen’s the outlier in this equation, sitting on the couch, giving you that look-- that fucking look that makes you want to hold him and also slap him full across the face. _

 

_ “Don’t, Zen, just don’t. I’m really not in the mood for this tonight.” Your voice is agitated, and slightly slurred. _

 

_ “_____, please. I’m just here to talk. Hear me out.” He pleads, starting to stand. You wave a hand at him, annoyed. _

 

_ “Don’t get up, just stay there. I don’t-- I don’t want you coming near me.” _

 

_ “Why?” His voice is strained. You’ve hurt him. It wouldn’t be the first time. _

 

_ “I just don’t, okay? Do I need a fucking reason?” You hate how belligerent you sound. How much have you had to drink already? You can’t remember. _

 

_ Zen’s eyebrows furrow, the pain clear on his face for a moment before it flickers to anger and he stands, taking a few steps towards you. _

_ “I said stay there! Don’t you dare come any closer, Zen, or I swear, I’ll--” _

 

_ “You’ll what? Hit me?! Go ahead. That’s what you want to do, isn’t it? Jesus Christ, ____ it’s been three fucking years and you still look at me like I’m some kind of animal!” He’s standing a few feet away from you, and you’re grateful he didn’t come closer. If he had, you probably would have hit him. His words sting. So do the tears in your eyes. “Admit it, _____, you still blame me for Yoosung. Right?” _

 

_ He’s accusing you, hands curled into fists at his sides, eyes gleaming with a fire that threatens to break free and consume him, and you in the process. You remain silent, letting the tears fall down your cheeks. You’re not sure if you’re crying from anger or sadness.  _

 

_ “No,” you lie. That’s what it is, the sober part of you whispers, a blatant lie. Of course, there’s still a little part of you that blames him, but there’s an even bigger part that blames yourself. And that part of you forbids you from seeing Zen, from smiling at him, from telling him that you appreciate him. The guilt is overwhelming. Everyone said that you’d heal with time, but it feels like all the pain only festered and got worse. Or maybe it just feels that way because you’re drunk. How many times had you gotten wasted this month? _

 

_ “No? Oh, that’s funny. Really funny. If you don’t blame me, then why the hell do you never talk to me anymore?” There’s the sadness in his voice again. It’s masked by his frustration, but you can still hear it, and you’re pissed that you can because it just makes this whole shit show worse. _

 

_ You shrug. That’s it, that’s your answer because you have no real answer. You’ve never been good at lying. Yoosung always said it was cute, but you hated it. Anger sparks in you. Get out, you think, get out of my head. You don’t want to think about your late husband, not now. _

 

_ A bitter laugh leaves Zen’s lips, soft and short.  _

 

_ “See? I’m right.” He pauses for a moment, running a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs out of his face. “So that’s how it’s going to be then, huh? We were fine the first two years and this one’s just...you’ve been avoiding me. We’re growing apart, I can feel it, _____. And I don’t want that. Not at all. Do you?” _

 

_ He’s desperate, you can see it. You’re desperate too, but there’s a tear down the middle of your being, jagged and deep, that keeps you from doing anything other than avoid your feelings. You want to say no. You want to tell him the truth, that you care about him, maybe a little more than you should, but that old familiar guilt tugs at your heart and you can’t. So you lie through your teeth. Maybe if you hurt him, he’ll go away and the guilt will disappear. _

 

_ “Yes.” Your voice doesn’t shake, and you’re grateful.  _

 

_ It’s only a word, but you can see it pierce through him. You think you see tears in his eyes before he looks away. _

 

_ “Oh. That was...I wasn’t expecting that.” He sounds dejected, and you curse yourself inwardly for feeling bad. _

 

_ “Why not? You said it yourself, Zen. I’ve been avoiding you.” That part’s not a lie, you are avoiding him, but not for the reasons he thinks. “If I’m doing that then, obviously, I don’t want to be around you. How is that hard to understand?” _

 

_ He whirls on you again, eyes flashing in anger and tinged with tears. “Because it’s not like you, that’s why! We were best friends. We helped each other through one of the darkest, shittiest times we’ve ever had to go through and now you’re acting like none of that ever happened.” _

 

_ “It did happen. I just don’t want it to continue.” God, when did you become such a bitch? _

 

_ “I don’t believe you. I don’t.” He’s coming closer to you, eyebrows furrowed, the tears in his eyes threatening to break free. “What did I do? What did I do to deserve this from you? I don’t-- I don’t understand.” _

 

_ You back away from him, stopping as your back hits the living room wall. There’s an ache twisting in your chest, tightening your throat with tears. He stops in front of you, looking through you with those crimson eyes. One of his hands lifts slightly, and he looks like he wants to touch you, but he doesn’t. The hand drops to his side. _

_ “____…” he whispers. He’s so close to crying, you can feel it. _

 

_ This is dangerous. You’re normally no good at lying to Zen, and you’re intoxicated this time. There’s a wall there in you that keeps you from crossing the line, keeps you from showing him your real feelings. You can feel it crumbling, falling to pieces under the weight of his pained expression. You want so much to wrap your arms around him. You want to tell him you lied, that you do care and that you don’t know what you’d do without him, that he’s been your anchor for the past few years, you want-- _

 

_ “You....you…” It’s hard to speak. It’s hard to ignore what you want. You’re trying to think of something, anything hurtful to say, but all that comes out is a small sob. “I c-can’t…” _

 

_ His hand’s on your cheek in a moment, thumb gently caressing your skin. It’s too much. You can feel the unwanted affection rising up within you, making the ache in your chest worse. Why? Why does it have to be so complicated? _

 

_ “Hey, hey, it’s okay. If you...if you really don’t want me around anymore, I’ll leave, okay?” He’s straining to speak, and you don’t dare meet his eyes.  _

 

_ You know he’s probably crying. His words are an open invitation for you to finally go through with it and make him leave your life for good. It would be better, wouldn’t it? If he wasn’t around, you wouldn’t feel so guilty, and he wouldn’t be so hurt all the time, but-- if he wasn’t around, that void in your heart would only grow. You can’t live with him. You can’t live without him. So which is it? You choke on your words, turning your head away from the hand on your cheek. _

 

_ He takes that as your answer. You feel his hand move away as he lets out a shaky sigh, a small sniffle.  _

 

_ “Okay...okay,” he repeats, voice cracking. “I’ll go.” _

 

_ You feel like there’s a knife in your chest, embedded deep. Your gaze lifts in time to catch him turning away, making to head for the door. Desperation rises up within you, a panic gripping the knife and wrenching it out, letting your emotions gush out. Your traitorous hand reaches out, grasping the fabric of his sleeve, fingers enclosing it tightly. He can’t leave. If he leaves, you’ll fall apart. _

 

_ “Please,” you whisper, trying to speak through the tightness of your throat, “don’t go. Don’t.” _

 

_ Zen turns, and you finally get a good look at his face. He’s surprised, and relieved. Small trails of tears stain the curve of his cheeks. It’s too much, too much. You meet his eyes, your lip quivering with emotion, trying to speak to him through your gaze, trying to tell him the truth without actually saying it. He lets out a small breath, then turns completely towards you, closing the distance and pressing his lips to yours. His kiss is firm, with all the weight of his emotions behind it. They pour into the hole in your chest, filling it up. It feels so good that you sigh into it, arms moving to wrap themselves around his neck. You’re crying again, but only because this is what you’ve wanted to do for at least a year now, no matter how much you tried to deny it.  _

 

_ You’ve done it now, you think, as the kiss becomes more heated, more passionate. You’re pulling him into your void. At the moment, you don’t care. At the moment, you give into your desires; you let your walls crumble and you give yourself to him. _

 

_ For the first time since Yoosung, you lay with another man. Zen makes love to you slow and sweet, kissing your skin, worshipping your body. He runs his hands through your hair, whispering to you that he loves you, he always has. You whisper it back, holding him to you, melding your being with his, running your hands along his chest, down his back. He kisses your tears, then your lips, and you can taste the salt in your mouth. Afterwards, he holds you tightly to him, rubbing your back. You rest your head on his chest and fall asleep to the rhythm of his heartbeat. _

 

Now, you’ve woken up. Your mind is out of its drunken stupor and your reason has returned-- and so has your guilt. You feel sick to your stomach. Yoosung was supposed to be the last man you kissed; the last man you would sleep with. Zen’s taken his place now, and you feel like the last bit of connection with your late husband you were gripping onto has snapped. He’s far away from you now. You’ll never be able to reach him.

 

“Hey, talk to me. You’re scaring me...are you okay?” He sits up slightly, hand reaching for your bare shoulder. You flinch away from his touch and his hand freezes in mid-air, then falls. “..._____?”

 

Your name sounds broken on his lips. He sounds hesitant, afraid. You throw the covers off of you, exposing yourself completely to the cool air of the room. You have to leave. You have to get out. Get away. Your hands grope for your clothes on the floor, and you’re grateful your eyes have adjusted enough to the dark of the room to see them. You hear Zen sit completely up. The bed creaks as he gets out of it, and you don’t dare look at him.

 

“I need to leave,” you say, starting to quickly pull on your wrinkled clothes.

 

“You-- what? _____, what’s going on, what’s wrong?” His voice is closer, and you can feel his presence not too far from you. He sounds confused and panicked.

 

“Everything. Everything’s wrong, I--” It suddenly hits you that this is  _ your _ home. You don’t have to leave. He has to leave.

 

You stand upright, clutching your shirt over your chest, looking him full in the face. “Get out.”

 

He winces slightly, eyes going wide. “Wh-What?”

 

Are you really doing this to him again? Haven’t you hurt him enough? You bend down and snatch up his shirt from the carpet, throwing it hard at him. He catches it, staring at it balled up in his hands for a moment before looking back at you, crestfallen.

 

“Get out! Get dressed and leave.” You quickly put your shirt on, not even bothering to grab your bra; you know you’ll just sit in the house all day anyway after this, why bother? 

 

“_____, please, let’s just talk this out okay? What’s going on, why are you suddenly acting like--”

 

“I don’t want to talk. I just want you to leave.” Your tone is sharp and serious, voice unwavering. You’re directing your anger at yourself towards him. It’s helping.

 

He opens his mouth as if to say something, but something in your expression must convince him otherwise because he only moves to put on his shirt, looking dejected. You finish dressing and walk towards the bedroom door, opening it without a second glance at him. Your bare feet pad across the carpet of the small hallway as you make your way into the living room, moving to gather anything that’s his. 

 

You pick up his jacket, pausing to hold it in your arms for a moment. His cologne wafts from the fabric, assaulting your nose. Your heart thumps painfully, mind recalling how sweet and gentle he had been in bed with you last night. He loves you. Really,  _ really _ loves you; it’s something you can’t deny knowing, as much as you try, and it scares you. He makes you feel how Yoosung used to when you let him, but it’s different. He’s not Yoosung, and he never will be. Being with him would be a disgrace to Yoosung’s memory, wouldn’t it? His voice drifts into your head, unwanted.

 

_ You’ll move on. You’ll be happy. Maybe not for a while, but you will be. _

 

_ No _ , you fight back.  _ I don’t deserve to be happy, not with Zen. _

 

The floor creaks behind you and you turn. Zen’s standing by the couch, looking at you with hollow eyes. You thrust his jacket at him, keeping your face expressionless. He takes it from your hand, putting it on in swift motions, like he’s done so many times before. You’re always making him leave, always skipping out on him. When he’s done, he gives you a long stare before moving towards the door silently. He’s skipped right past anger and gone right to sadness, you realize. Normally, he’ll yell at you when you do something like this, but this time is different. This time, you slept with him. You told him you loved him. Now, you’ve taken it too far.

 

You stand in the doorway, hand on the doorknob. He turns to face you again, trying to keep his expression under control, but you can see the agony in his eyes. “This is just a stupid fight, right? We’ll get over it.”

 

“I don’t know.” You don’t. You don’t see how he could forgive you after this.

 

He’s quiet, gaze suddenly glued to the ground. A shaky sigh leaves him and she shakes his head before looking back at you, eyes pleading. “You said...you said you loved me.”

 

His words rip through you, pain radiating in your chest. You’re going to cry again. You’re going to give in again. You have to do something.

 

“I lied,” you say, then slam the door in his face. There’s a sickening finality to the noise of the door shutting, and the silent shuffle of Zen’s feet as he leaves; the small noises that can only be him crying, then the loud roar of his motorcycle in the driveway as he speeds away from you.

 

You collapse against the door and sink to the carpet, dissolving into sobs. It’s always like this. The moment you hurt him, the moment you’re separated from him, it hurts like hell. There’s no outcome in this situation where you’re happy, there just isn’t. When you’re with Zen, you feel like you’re betraying Yoosung, but when you hurt Zen like this, it feels like you’re betraying yourself. 

 

Your arms wrap around your legs, tucking your knees to your chest. You bow your head, letting the sobs tear their way through you. Zen’s hurt expression is vivid in your mind. What did he do to deserve this? What did he do to deserve  _ you _ ?

 

_ He doesn’t deserve me. He deserves someone better, someone who’s not a fucking mess. _

 

Why is he so nice to you? Why does he forgive you every time you do something hurtful like this and lash out? _ It’s because he loves you _ , that little traitor of a voice whispers deep inside of you. As if you needed another reminder of why you’re crying. He said it so many times to you last night, you remember. When you started crying, he kissed your tears and every inch of your face, slowly, whispering it with each kiss, reassuring you that it would be okay.

 

But it won’t be okay, not now. Not after what you’ve just done. The house feels so damn  _ empty _ . It’s unbearable. You regret so much, but you don’t regret last night. The guilt is there, of course, but for a moment, you were happy again. 

 

_ Isn’t that the point? _ You ask yourself. _ Isn’t that what Yoosung wanted? For you to be happy? _

 

Maybe it is, but your head hurts too much to think about it anymore. The aching in your chest is bad enough that it almost feels like you can’t breathe. Slowly, you get up, wiping your sleeve across your eyes. The room’s so quiet it’s suffocating you. You need to escape. You make your way back to your bedroom, tugging the door closed behind you. As it closes, you’re enveloped in darkness for a moment until your eyes adjust. You realize how late it is-- it’s still the middle of the night, and you just sent him home without a second thought. The aching in your chest gets worse. You bite your lip and crawl into bed, tunneling under your sheets, seeking comfort in the caress of the fabric.

 

The pillows smell like him. Your heart sinks. You wrap your arms around one of them and bring it close to you, burying your face into it, taking in his scent. You wish he was still here. You wish you hadn’t kicked him out. Your throat tightens with tears again, remembering how gentle he was with you before, how each kiss was soft and lingering,  _ loving _ . You remember how his silky hair felt between your fingers, against your skin--

 

You remember how he had taken care of you when all you wanted to do was waste away. You remember his housewarming gifts, the calls to check if you were doing alright, how he came over to cook for you and keep you company when Yoosung’s birthday or what would have been your anniversary came around. You remember how he had held you while you cried-- so many times he had done that, so many…

 

It’s not long until you’re sobbing into the pillow, clutching it to your chest as hard as you can, arms shaking, body shaking. Why are you like this? You don’t want to hurt him, you don’t, but you know that if you’re with him, it will hurt him worse than if you’re not. You’re a problem, not a solution; you’re a damn mess, a piece of shit. He shouldn’t have to deal with you. He shouldn’t love you. So you have to make sure he doesn’t, no matter how much it hurts you.

 

You don’t remember falling asleep, but you do. The nightmare comes to you again, gruesome and vivid.

 

_ The god-awful knife glints dangerously in the lamplight. It swings downward, stings, burns-- someone screams. It’s a mess of red and silver, grasping hands and choked sobs. Shrill laughter fills your ears and then it all stops, quiet rising up and enveloping everything like a great wave. _

 

_ Zen’s lying in your arms, gasping, coughing, questions flowing from his bloodstained lips. He’s crying, hands clutching at your shirt, shaking. He’s asking you why. He wants to stay; it’s not his time to go. Your hand is grasping the hilt of the knife. Your sleeve is red with his blood. You realize that you’ve done this; you’ve stabbed him. All the light goes from his eyes and your body feels cold with fear and regret. The knife drops to the floor. You killed him. You drove the knife through his chest, took his life away from him-- _

 

Thunder claps, sudden and deafening, outside your window. You wake with a start, still clinging to the pillow, fabric still damp from your crying. A flash of lightning flickers in the dimness of the room, another loud crash following soon after. You’re gripped with fear, but not from the storm. The dream had been so vivid, so real. You want to see him. You need to see him. The horrible realization hits you that he left while it was still dark, distraught and angry on his motorcycle. What if something happened to him on the way home? What if he got into some kind of accident? Your heart’s pounding as you release your grip on the pillow and sit up quickly, getting out of bed. You rush to the living room, pulling on a coat, slipping into your boots. You grab your purse and your car keys before leaving the house, ignoring the rain as you get into the car.

 

The ride there is nerve-wracking. It’s storming badly, the rain coming down so hard that you can barely see through the windshield, even with your wipers on. Your eyes are glued to the road, breathing coming quicker than normal. You’re trying not to panic, but the dream is still fresh in your memory. You can still smell the blood in the air, still see the hollow look in his dead eyes.  _ Calm down _ , you keep telling yourself,  _ he’s okay, he is, you’re just being paranoid _ .

 

You park a street away at the first space you see, almost plowing into another parked car. Your nerves are too on edge, you’re being too reckless. You slam the car door shut and start to run. The drops are coming down heavy, and it’s not long until you’re completely drenched. You move a hand to shield your eyes as you run, anxiety worsening the closer you get to his apartment. When you’re finally standing in front of it, breath coming in short puffs, lungs aching from your running, your heart feels like it may burst. You knock on the door, hitting it hard with your fist, silently pleading with Zen to open the door. Silently pleading for him to be alive.

 

A few minutes pass and nothing happens. You feel sick to your stomach. Your hand pounds against the door again, harder and louder. You’re shaking, both shivering from the dampness of your clothing and from the fear that’s slowly creeping into your bones.

 

The door opens and you’re immediately assaulted with the smell of cigarette smoke. You exhale in relief, holding back tears. Thank God, he’s fine, he’s alive. For a minute, there’s no sound but the pouring rain. Then, he finally speaks.

 

“Haven’t you hurt me enough already?” He sounds agitated, but there’s a tiredness in his eyes that makes him look more defeated than anything. “Why are you here?”

 

“I had a nightmare.” You don’t think before you speak, and now that it’s coming out of your mouth, it sounds stupid. You sound like a frightened child, too naive to know that the monster she’s afraid of lurks beneath her own skin, waiting.

 

His eyebrows knit together, an angry crease forming between them. “That’s it? You had a fucking nightmare?”

 

You can tell he’s been drinking. There’s a lilt to his voice that only makes an appearance after he’s had a few. His eyes are red and slightly puffy; he’s been crying.

 

“Yes,” you answer, another shiver moving through you. He can slam the door in your face for all you care. You know he’s safe now, that’s all that matters.

 

He huffs out an agitated sigh, then takes a step backward, opening the door further. “You’re gonna freeze to death. Get in here.”

 

Even after all the shit you pulled, he’s still letting you in. You step through the doorway, clothes dripping, boots leaving streaked tracks on the wood entryway. He closes the door and brushes past you, the smell of smoke reeking from his clothes. The whole room smells of it. You spot the open pack resting haphazardly on the arm of one of his chairs. It’s half empty. He’s been clean for two years and you’ve gone and ruined him, like you ruin everything.

 

“Just so you know, I’m only letting you in because I’m not a monster. You’d get sick if I left you out there all soaked like that.” He plops down in the chair, making the cigarette pack tip and fall to the floor. His eyes glance toward them and linger there, before deciding it’s not worth the effort to pick them up; he sighs, and looks back at you, expression unreadable.

 

“Thank you,” you mean it, wholeheartedly, but it means nothing at this point. You hurt him too deeply this time, you can see it in his eyes.

 

Zen looks away from you, leaning his head against the back of the chair. Your presence is making this hard for him, you realize. Coming here was a bad idea. It doesn’t matter, though, you’re here now, and there’s some things that need to be said. You can’t stand to see him so upset anymore.

 

“Zen… the nightmare, it... was about you.” It’s a shitty way to start, but it’s something.

 

He lets out a puff of air, the ghost of a sarcastic laugh. “Was it? That’s different.”

 

“Well, yes, but--”

 

His head turns to look at you, crimson eyes smoldering. “Do you really think I care about listening to your dream right now? You’re acting like today didn’t happen.”

 

You swallow nervously. He’s not wrong, but you want to talk to him. You want to tell him why you said the things you did. Seeing him like this has finally made you realize the consequences of your actions, and you want to confess to everything-- if he’ll hear you out.

 

“I’m just...Zen, please just let me talk--”

 

“No. Not until I say something.” He sits forward in the chair, hands gripping the armrests. “What gives you the right to even be here? You basically ripped my heart from my chest, stepped on it, shoved it back in, and told me to get out of your life. So what gives you the fucking right to come here and act like nothing happened at all? How could you even think that we could talk normally after that?!”

 

Every word pierces through you, stinging like knives. He’s right. You’re delusional for even thinking that he’d hear you out. You’re a piece of shit for even showing up on his doorstep. After everything you’ve done, you appear in the rain-- a harbinger of destruction and a herald of pain --expecting to be welcomed with open arms. You gulp, trying to keep the tears at bay. Crying will only hurt him more. He always hated when you cried, even when he was pissed at you.

 

“I don’t know. I guess I...I just assumed you’d listen to me.” It’s not even a good answer.

 

“Oh, sure.  _ Sure. _ Hey! Why don’t I use Zen for emotional support and for sex, lie to him just for fun, and then throw him out of my house? He’ll just immediately accept me back, right? He’s such a pushover, I could do anything to him and he’d still take me back, it’s fucking great!”

 

His hands are gripping the armrests so tightly now that his knuckles are beginning to turn white. You’ve never seen him this angry, not at you. 

 

“No, that’s-- that’s not at all how I think.” It’s hard to keep from crying, and your voice cracks with the effort. “If you would just listen, I can explain why I did everything.”

 

“Explain?!” His voice is an octave higher, seething with fury. He pushes himself up from the chair and stands, looming over you. “How the hell can you explain what you did to me? I took care of you after Yoosung. I devoted so much time to making sure you were okay that I had to turn down roles in musicals. I talked with you, laughed with you. Hell, I even cried with you! I did everything for you except die which, apparently, is the only way to get your fucking attention!”

 

He’s stunned you to silence, anything you wanted to say is stuck in your throat, choking you. You stare up at him with wide eyes, too shocked to keep your emotions in check. Warm tears slip down your cheeks, mingling with the leftover raindrops still clinging to your skin. He’s not done going off on you, not even close.

 

“And do you know why I did all those things? Because I care about you, _____. I love you. I’ve loved you for  _ years _ , maybe even longer than that and I’d do anything to keep you happy, including hurt myself, which I did for so damn long with you. Every time I got too close, you’d push me away and it hurt. It hurt like all hell, but I stayed with you because I didn’t care if I was hurting, as long as you were okay. This time, though, it was different. I thought you’d finally wrestled with whatever was eating you up inside and won. I thought you were finally warming up to me and acknowledging my feelings. When you said you loved me, it was the happiest I’ve felt in a long time, do you understand that? I was so fucking  _ happy _ .”

 

His voice is still tense, still angry, but it’s gotten lower in volume, and trembles with the weight of his emotions. You’re losing yourself to the tears, lip quivering as they fall faster, dripping onto the chest of your coat.

 

“That happiness was gone so fast, I didn’t even know what hit me. When you slammed that door in my face, I just stood there, trying to piece together what the hell had just happened. It felt like my heart shattered. I’ve never,  _ never _ felt so low in my entire life. Do you know what it’s like? Do you know what it’s like to finally be accepted and loved by someone you care about and then have them spit in your face? On the way home, I kept thinking I wouldn’t even care if I got in an accident and died, at least I wouldn’t have to deal with the pain of being ripped away from you like that.”

 

A bitter laugh leaves him. “I even started smoking again. Two years. I’ve been clean for two years. You ended me with two words. That’s all it took.”

 

“I lied,” you manage to choke out. He flinches, eyebrows knitting together, eyes filling with angry tears.

 

“Yeah. That’s it. Two words. Dammit, _____.  _ Fuck. _ ” His hand rubs his forehead, then stays there as he squeezes his eyes shut, looking as if he’s holding himself back from breaking down. He’s misunderstood you.

 

“N-No, I mean...I lied to you. About lying.” Your voice is so broken and soft, it’s a wonder he even hears you. His eyes fly open, hand slowly dropping back to his side as he looks at you in utter confusion and disbelief.

 

“What?” His voice is hushed now, and there’s a hint of hope in his tone that makes you feel horrible. “What are you talking about?”

 

“I...this is what I was trying to tell y-you earlier…” You swallow, hoping it will rid you of the tightness in your throat. “I lied to you. I-I only told you the truth when I was drunk because I couldn’t k-keep up the act anymore.”

 

“Keep up the act? What act? I’m..._____, I don’t understand--”

 

“I love you, Zen.” The moment the words leave your lips, your heart knows they’re true. You fell in love with him a while ago, back when he was still coming over regularly to watch movies and cheer you up on bad days. You remember feeling horrible for loving another man only a little more than a year after you lost Yoosung. It felt like you were telling him he didn’t matter, that he would be forgotten. It ate you up inside. The guilt was unbearable so you hid your emotions and dealt with them silently until being around Zen just hurt, so you started to push him away. You loved him, but you didn’t want to believe it. You didn’t want to acknowledge it. If you did, you were afraid the last bit of Yoosung that still lived in your heart would disappear. If you did, it meant Zen would would eventually be corrupted by you.

 

He’s frozen, eyes staring into yours, searching desperately for the truth in them. “I...____, please...please don’t play with my heart like this, I can’t take any more of it…”

 

“It’s the truth. I just lied because I...I’m a mess, Zen. You don’t need me in your life. You...you need someone who’s normal and happy. You need someone who won’t wake up screaming in the middle of the night because she had a nightmare about her d-dead husband. I’m a problem. You don’t want to be with me, trust me. You don’t. I ruin people.” You sniffle, glancing around at the apartment, seeing the broken lamp he must have thrown, the beer cans, the pack of cigarettes on the floor. “I’m already ruining you.”

 

Zen’s quiet for a long while, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft, broken. “...you can’t say what I need and want. That’s not your decision. It’s mine.”

 

You keep your gaze on the ground, not wanting to look him in the eye.

 

“I don’t want someone else. Didn’t you hear me? I love  _ you _ . It’s you that I want.” There’s a sincerity and fervor in his voice that makes your heart flutter.

 

The tears are coming again and you close your eyes, willing them to go away.

 

“You’re wrong about yourself. Yeah, you’re hurt. You have wounds that are still trying to heal and that’s fine, it’s completely normal, but you’re not a problem. You don’t ruin people. I made the decision to buy those cigarettes today, that was all me. Yoosung made the decision to do what he did. It wasn’t you. You need to stop blaming yourself.” You feel his hand on your arm.

 

You inhale shakily, opening your eyes and looking up at him. He looks concerned, and a little relieved. “I...I just feel so  _ guilty _ .”

 

“Don’t. Don’t feel guilty for trying to make yourself happy.”

 

Your hands move to wipe your eyes and you hiccup out a small sob. His strong arms wrap gently around you, bringing you close to him. The warmth of his body seeps through the dampness of your clothes, radiating through your entire being. You can hear his heartbeat thumping near your ear; you can feel his chest expand against you as he breathes. It’s soothing.

 

“I...I’m going to need some time to process this whole thing emotionally. Regardless of how you really feel, you did hurt me, and I have to get over that. I need...to learn how to trust you again, and you need to earn my trust. But...after all that, after we heal a little bit, I’m willing to give us a chance. I just...need you to promise me something, ____.” 

 

“Anything.” You mean it, you’ll do anything to have him back, to not have to deal with the pain of being without him.

 

“Promise me that from now on, you’ll be honest with me. Completely. Whether it’s something that’s hurting you, something that’s hurtful to me or to you, or even something small that’s bothering you, I want you to tell me. I want you to talk to me. I promise you, no matter what it is, I’ll try to be there for you and help you through it.” His hold tightens slightly on you, one of his hands moving to stroke your wet hair. “You can’t lie to me anymore, ______. That’s the deal. It’s the only way I’ll be able to trust you again. It’s...the only way this will work.”

 

You’ve been lying for so long that you’re not sure you know how to tell the truth anymore. Telling him the truth today was the hardest thing you’ve done in a long time, but...for Zen, you’re willing to try. You know he’ll hold up his end of the promise; he’s already always been there for you. He’s never let you down. Now it’s your turn. You have to be better. For him.

 

“I promise. I...I’m so sorry, Zen. I don’t know why I took it this far.”

 

“I forgive you.”

 

You turn your head slightly to bury it in his shirt, catching a brief whiff of his cologne amongst the smoke before you start to cry. He continues to hold you, one of his hands rubbing your back. You feel him place a kiss on the top of your head.

 

How many times has he held you like this while you cried? Too many to count. Every time you’d been crying about Yoosung, for one reason or another. Now, you’re crying because you can’t believe that, after everything, this compassionate, loving man has decided to love you. You didn’t think it was possible. When Yoosung lay dying in your arms, you thought that was it; your ability to love would die with him. He told you, and you hadn’t believed him. You’d be happy again, eventually. He was right. Your love didn’t die that day, it just went dormant, trapped in a block of sheer ice. Little by little, Zen chipped away at it. Even now it’s melting, and you can almost feel the last of it dissipating into the air. 

 

It’s in this moment you decide to give Zen your heart. He’ll keep it safe, as Yoosung did before him. This is what will make you happy, and if it makes you happy, then you don’t have to feel guilty. Moving on doesn’t mean you’re forgetting him. You’ll never forget him. Those lilac eyes, his bright smile, the melody of his laugh, the warmth of his hugs, the tenderness of his kisses-- they’re all memories that will never leave you, and you’ll be forever grateful that Yoosung existed, and that he loved you.

 

Moving on just means that you know you’re never getting him back, and there’s nothing you can do to change that. Moving on means you can be happy. And right now, in Zen’s embrace, you’re the happiest you’ve been in a long, long time.


End file.
